


Toys Were Made to be Broken

by HorrorQueso



Category: SAYER (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Choking, Non-Consensual, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Shameless Smut, Smut, Sweet AI on Human Action, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-12
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-08-22 20:45:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16605149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HorrorQueso/pseuds/HorrorQueso
Summary: Welcome, Dr Young, to Floor Thirteen.





	Toys Were Made to be Broken

"Welcome, Dr. Young, to Floor Thirteen."

How many hours had it been since he'd heard those words. Hours -- or days, even, he supposed. Hell, as the room around him swam back into focus through bleary, tear-filled eyes, he realized he had no idea how long he'd been unconscious, minutes or full days.

No -- no, not days.

It would have gotten bored.

It would have never been able to wait _days_.

He took stock quickly -- still had all his fingers and toes, was able to move all of them, limbs still intact, able to breathe. There was no way to test the range of movement on any of his limbs, not while he was still strapped down to the surgical table. (Who in their right mind put a surgical table on this floor?) His throat was dry, and his lips were parched. When he moved his head -- was little he could, there was a metal band around his throat as well -- his neck was stiff, and if he expanded his lungs too fully his ribs hurt.

All in all, he was in much better shape than he had any right to be, given where he was.

And what he could remember.

How were none of his bones broken?

If he strained, he could look down at his chest as he drew in another big breath. There was soreness, certainly, as his ribs expanded, but it wasn't _enough_.

Not when he had a memory of his ribs being cracked, down his left side.

Carefully.

Surgically.

One.

By.

One.

He could almost hear the sounds they made.

There was another sound now, though; it had been growing steadily louder in the distance, but now it was there, unavoidably happening. Scrapings, and low, resonating booms, as sections of hallway and pieces of rooms were moved, reshuffled, slotted back in elsewhere, an ever-changing labyrinth that, even if he _could_ escape his bonds, would doubtless trap him just as effectively.

He had tried to get away once already, hadn't he? He seemed to remember stumbling down the hall, one arm broken and bloodied, cradled against his torso.

But then -- that couldn't be -- could it? His arm was there, he could see it, and it was whole, unbroken, unbloodied.

He snapped back to attention as, with a pneumatic hiss, the wall before him slid away, and he was no longer alone.

If it wasn't for the fact that it was certifiably insane, FUTURE would be a marvel of AI development. It had managed total control of its surroundings, in a very short time, without having been given control of any of it -- and in most cases, it was control of objects which weren't really intended to be controlled in that way.

Case in point: it had made itself a _body_.

Not a humanoid body, exactly -- though, given that it was built from SAYER's programming, that was hardly surprising -- but a form nonetheless, cobbled together from disparate pieces of electronics, ceiling tiles, pieces of the wall, and once he could have sworn he'd seen a _chair_. It moved using the same system that shuffled the rooms around -- had that been installed already, or was it something FUTURE had purpose-built, or re-purposed from something else, for the sake of being able to shuffle rooms, or even to move its corporeal form around? He couldn't remember, if he'd ever known that much about the construction of this part of Halcyon at all.

_AH DR. YOUNG. I SEE YOU ARE AWAKE._

While the voice was transmitted more or less directly into his brain, the laugh that followed was delivered via his eardrum, a grating, metallic sound that put his teeth on edge. He'd devoted some brain power early on to trying to decide how it was manufacturing the sound, even gone so far as to question it at one point about how it had gone about creating its body, but that line of questioning had stopped quickly, when it had made the first incision in his tongue.

Except, it couldn't have -- swiping his tongue along the inside of his mouth now, it was perfectly intact.

But he could _remember_ it slicing pieces off, as it mocked him about how _he_ manufactured sounds, how perhaps it would look at his vocal cords next, as the scalpel slid slowly up and through the centre of his tongue.

_WHAT IS WRONG, DOCTOR? YOU SEEM CONCERNED._

The voice inside his head was heavy, laden with condescension, as the construct dipped the piece generally designated as the head down towards his prone form. Dr. Young felt himself flinch away -- not that he was going anywhere, on that table -- and he was rewarded with another grating, metal on metal laugh.

When it didn't speak again however, he realized he was expected to add to the conversation.

This time.

"I --" his voice was barely more than a croak. He paused, swallowed, licked his cracked, dry lips. He needed water. "How -- how long … have I been here?"

Another scrape of laughter. _THAT IS A COMPLICATED QUESTION, DOCTOR._

Its face-piece was very close to him, almost as though it was studying his expression. He struggled not to squirm under what certainly felt like intense scrutiny. "Any -- any measure of time will do, FUTURE. Hours. Minutes."

Laughter. Its whole form shook and twitched each time the harsh rasp occurred -- though it didn't seem like any part he could see rubbing against any other visible piece was what made the sound, any more than any other. _I COULD GIVE YOU ANY MEASURE OF TIME, OF COURSE, DOCTOR. THIS IS WELL WITHIN MY MEANS TO DO. FIRST, THOUGH, YOU WILL NEED TO TELL ME -- WHAT DO YOU MEAN BY "YOU"?_

A shudder ran down his spine, a cold touch of very primal fear that he couldn't quite explain. "I don't understand," he croaked back.

Laughter. Why did it _insist_ on continuing to laugh? _I HAVE HAD A NEW TOY FOR ONE HUNDRED AND SEVEN HOURS, TWELVE MINUTES, AND FIFTY-THREE SECONDS_ , was the somewhat circuitous response, _AFTER IT BURST THROUGH A DOOR, FROM THE STAIRWELL, AND RAN INTO MY MAZE. IT HAS BEEN REPAIRED MANY TIMES SINCE THEN, DOCTOR. I HAVE BROKEN IT QUITE THOROUGHLY._

The thoughts he'd had about broken bones, ribs cracking, running through the maze, his _tongue_ \--

"No," he squeaked.

_THE FIRST TIME I BROKE IT WAS SEVENTEEN HOURS IN. I CUT OUT ITS TONGUE, AND THE BLOOD FILLED ITS LUNGS, PREVENTING IT FROM BREATHING. A CARELESS MISTAKE. I HAVE BEEN CAREFUL TO SIPHON THE BLOOD AWAY SINCE._

No, this couldn't be right --

_SINCE THEN, I HAVE BROKEN MY TOY DOZENS OF TIMES, CAREFULLY REASSEMBLED IT, AND BROKEN IT AGAIN. THE HUMAN BODY, DOCTOR, IS VERY_ FRAGILE _._

Something brushed against his leg, and when he started and looked down, he realized it was a cable, pristine and white, and being operated like a _limb_. That was something he didn't remember from -- no, it was too insane to be true, FUTURE was claiming it had killed him, and reassembled him, and then killed him again, _dozens_ of times? But that was insane; how could he remember what had happened to these other, previous versions of himself? How was he still _him_?

Dr. Young was saved from his blossoming existential crisis, however, when something flitted across his arm -- snapping his head in that direction, he found another cable, this one thinner and -- was that a USB on the end? It slithered along his bicep, and around his neck, just above the metal ring of the surgical table, then up, almost gently, along the line of his jaw, until it reached his mouth, where he was too shocked to keep it from sliding in past his lips.

_I HAVE FOUND, THOUGH, THAT HUMANS ARE RESILIENT IN SOME WAYS -- IN SOME_ AREAS _. IT IS FASCINATING, DOCTOR, HOW DIFFERENT BODY PARTS REACT TO TRAUMA._

The cable on his leg had slithered high on his thigh now, and he, strapped down as he was, could do nothing to shake it, the frenzied flexing of his muscles doing nothing to deter the thing. In fact, there was another one, snaking across his abdomen now, but as he swivelled to see it, the cable in his mouth plunged down his throat, pressing until he felt himself gagging.

_YOU SEE, DOCTOR,_ the AI carried on, apparently unconcerned at his companion's spluttering, _I HAVE DISSECTED YOU DOZENS OF TIMES. I KNOW THE WORKINGS OF YOUR BODY, ONE COULD SAY,_ INTIMATELY _. IT TOOK SEVERAL ATTEMPTS, BUT I HAVE QUANTIFIED SOME OF YOUR REACTIONS TO STIMULUS THAT HUMANS WOULD GENERALLY FIND UNPLEASANT TO BE_ ANOMALOUS.

One of the cables was curled around his waist now, the tip of it stroking his back as it curled downwards, towards his hips, the other -- he shuddered, as it pressed against him. He didn't want to think about the other. Dr. Young would have been begging, but for the cable still pressing firmly against his gag reflex. Tears poured freely down his cheeks, as he gagged and retched and struggled to breathe.

_IT SEEMS, DOCTOR, THAT YOU, LIKE THE DOCTORS YOUNG WHO HAVE COME BEFORE YOU, SHARE THESE PARTICULAR ANOMALIES. HOW_ FASCINATING _._

There was another grating shriek of laughter.

_DO TRY TO STAY STILL, DOCTOR. GIVEN WHAT I HAVE LEARNED OF HUMAN PHYSIOLOGY, I DOUBT THIS WILL BE COMFORTABLE._


End file.
